


Curing Nervousness

by Reality 3_0 (reality_2_0)



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-04
Updated: 2009-04-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:36:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2268237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reality_2_0/pseuds/Reality%203_0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP, pre-UN-panel. Inspired by the UN-kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curing Nervousness

Nodding to the guard, he knocked on the door of the room to where she had escaped to some time ago to have some solitude before the big event. He had promised to pick her up, but was too early on purpose, because knowing her, she was nervous and in need of some calming down. Judging by her voice, he had been right with this assumption. Not that most people would notice. He, however, had gotten to know her quite well during the last years of working side by side, of spending the better part of his days, weeks with her, had gotten to know her habits and little spleens.

When he slipped into the room and found her sitting by the window, her hands wrapped tightly around each other, her hair in slight disarray, evidence of her having run her fingers through it repeatedly; he had to admit it was somehow endearing that she was still this nervous before a public appearance despite having faced quite a few during her career, especially ever since the show had started.

“Is it time already?” she asked, surprised to see him and obviously questioning her sense of time.

“No, it’s not, but I thought you might like some company after all.” His tone was gentle, contained a hint of a question. She only needed to say the words or make a gesture and he would leave immediately without protest or ill-humour.

“Thank you.” Nodding for him to take the seat opposite her, she ran her fingers through her hair again. Unable to contain his amusement upon seeing this gesture, he chuckled quietly as he sat down.

“What?” Irritation was evident in her voice.

“They won’t bite your head of. They love you, they always do. No need to be nervous.”

She sighed. “Easy for you to say, Mr. Confident.”

Getting up again, he bridged the small distance between them with a step and cupped her chin with a hand, thereby forcing her to look into his eyes, to acknowledge, to see the truth of his words. “You’re an intelligent, kind-hearted, eloquent woman who has her ethics right. You’ve nothing to fear here.”

Although she nodded tentatively, it was clear that she didn’t really believe him, or rather that nervousness prevented it.

Smiling, he shook his head and leaned down. The contact of lips was an almost brief and friendly one. When he started to retreat, though, she suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. This second kiss was nothing like the first. It was passionate, deep and given by lovers, not by friends. They were cursed like that – ever since they had gotten the first taste of the forbidden fruit, they weren’t able to linger on the safe side, the permitted, morally correct one. Both, well aware of this fact, usually tried to avoid close contact as to not lose it, as to not subject themselves to the danger of getting lost in the web of temptation, to not give in again. As long as they kept a certain distance, everything was fine; but the moment they crossed the invisible border, their weakness for each other took over and they reacted like two opposite poles of a magnet, moving close and closer to the other until not even air fitted between them. His lips pressed lightly against hers had been crossing the line by miles.

Feeling himself losing his balance, he broke the kiss and straightened himself up. As their eyes locked, a heated, wordless conversation took place that did nothing to help with their breathlessness. Challengingly, she raised an eyebrow, daring him to go through with what his eyes promised. When he remained motionless, obviously caught in the moment, she got up, her body sliding along his in the motion. That did the deed. The next moment, she found herself hoisted up on the table, her hands pressed by his against the surface, her mouth invaded by his tongue, his body in full contact with hers. To feel his unmistakable arousal against her lap, to know what was ineluctably going to happen made her forget all the wrongness of their doing.

One of his hands left hers and slid along her arms and ribs, over her hips and thighs to her knee and then along legs back upward under her skirt. She spread her legs slightly, moaning out when he cupped her satin-clad sex. Aware of their location, of the fact that only a not very thick door separated them from a public floor and a security man, he swallowed the sounds of passion with his mouth on hers. As he pushed the crotch aside and began to stroke her, she reciprocated by reaching for his erection, squeezing it through the fabric of his pants. He bit his lower lip to not groan out too loudly in response to her touch. Concupiscence, urgency rose in his blood; his body demanded to take her. She obviously shared his need for she rocked eagerly against his hand. A soft tone of complaint passed her lips as he removed his fingers from her damp flesh, but when he hooked them under her panties, she lifted her hips encouragingly. Remembering her enragement the one and only time he had torn a piece of her underwear in the heat of the action by accident, he carefully pulled her panties off and pocketed them.

Always torn between appreciating the length – or rather shortness – of her skirts and considering them torture, he momentarily opted for being grateful for not having to bother with much material on his way to the ultimate, wet goal. Pushing her dress up until it was gathered just above her hips, he spread her legs further and stepped between her thighs. A moment later, under her nimble fingers, the fastener of his pants came apart and the trousers skidded to his feet. His briefs followed soon after. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she wriggled closer to the edge of the table. With practised ease, he slipped into her wetness. His lips crashed down on hers in a bruising kiss the same instant to muffle both their vocalisations of the enjoyment of the intimate, physical connection.

As his mouth watered at the sight of her taut nipple outlined under the fabric, he discovered the downside of her choice of clothing. There was no way he could close his lips around her bare nipples without almost completely undressing her, which was not an option considering their whereabouts as well as the time span to appear presentable again; so he contented himself with kneading, fondling, tweaking her breasts through the material. Her reaction came immediately as always. Throwing her head back, she pressed her chest firmer into his touch. He loved her responsiveness to his ministrations, to drive her to the edge of abandonment with a few well-placed touches, loved that she gave herself to him so openly, so wantonly, put her curves on display for him to love. She was a potent aphrodisiac and seemed incomprehensibly oblivious to that fact most of the time. However, this was part of her appeal.

As her inner walls squeezed his member, he dampened his growl in her cleavage and followed the familiar wordless demand to start moving. Slow and long, at the beginning, his thrusts soon became shorter and harder. Her hips moved in counter unison with his, spurring him on. When the rhythm turned frantic, erratic, and her muscles started to tighten around his intruding length again and again, he covered her mouth with one hand while rubbing her clitoris with the other. He wanted her to come hard, to still remember this encounter for the following hours every time she would move in her seat. Forcefully, she flew over the edge, triggering his climax with hers.

Sitting up, she leaned bonelessly against his chest, her breathing irregular like his.

“You okay?” he inquired, kissing her softly on the forehead.

Upon her shaky nod, he untangled himself from her embrace and went to the adjacent bathroom to clean himself up.

Not trusting her legs just yet, she remained seated where she was, waiting for him to return. True to his habit, he reappeared moments later, clothes straight, with some tissues and cleaned her tenderly. Once done, he pulled her panties from his pocket. With an overacted sigh of disappointment and sadness, he slid them back up her legs before helping her to stand up. He used the chance to run his hands over her curves under the guise of straightening her clothes.

“So much for having the ethics right,” she whispered.

He growled and sealed her lips with his again, invading her mouth with his tongue, leaving them both breathless once more. “Definitely something you have in common with the president.”

She rolled her eyes, straightened her dress unnecessarily one last time, grabbed her handbag and took a deep breath. “Ready to go.” Giving her a once over, he was pleased to find the early nervousness absent. Yes, they could leave, they actually should leave as the knock on the door indicated. With a nod, he offered her his arm, and they left the room, looking as much the close friends as ever.

The End.


End file.
